You're Gonna Go Far Kid
by storyspinners
Summary: A role-reversal story. "In the aftermath of war, the United Kingdom has a new government forming, new leaders rising, and a new country growing again as well. A country that will currently be under the care and protection of the United States." USxUK


... i don't even know.

This takes place in the future. (an improbable future, by hey, it is what it is)

* * *

><p><strong>~You're Gonna Go Far Kid~<strong>

xXx

_As of this moment, reports are saying that the Wars may indeed be over, but the damage, remains, catastrophic. _

_Among the countries that have taken a heavy toll, one, the United Kingdom, is said to have been structurally damaged both physically and from within; high number of losses in government officials, in the royal family, and within the system, the details of which, remain inconclusive at this time._

_Standing as more of a shell of it's former self, the U.K. and surrounding lands remain intact, it's citizens regrouping and aid being sent in, however the country itself has fallen back into disrepair, and will need to reform and rebuild entirely. _

_Until such a time may come, the U.K. is no longer an acting country and will be under the direct control of it's close ally, the United States of America. _

xXx

It took them months to find England.

By then, the smoke had settled, the fire and ash and dust dissipating from the air. A calm had swept across the world, everyone retreating back to their own lands, carrying the weight of fighting and war on each of their shoulders.

But England had disappeared. Along with Scotland and Wales.

Simply gone.

No one knew where they had gone, though as the fighting stopped and life moved forward once again, it was clear the United Kingdom was not fairing so well.

Ireland was the one to have found them. And yet not. Because who he brought back with him, were three little boys, each not saying a word, and each with incredibly thick eyebrows and matching green eyes.

Countries were strange things. Not even they themselves knew everything about what they were and how their "lives" worked exactly. Some of them died, some of them endured for thousands of years, some of them were children of other, older countries, or maybe reincarnated countries, and some of them weren't really countries at all.

And now, Ireland was telling them that his brothers had... _reverted? _That as their people restarted, they were doing the same. That were just _kids, _not even fully grown anymore.

But it was still them. Ireland swore they were his brothers. It was just something you sensed, the way a country was different from any other human.

America was pacing outside the one office door, his hands shaking as he stepped back and forth and back, because this was _insane, _and why had it taken so long for him to get over here.

They were currently in London; his officials talking to England's people, and Ireland's people, and even France's. They had been trying to figure out what to do, what was the best course of action, and England had been found _a week ago_ and America had yet to see him.

Said country continued pacing. Voices drifted down the length of the hallway, streaming out from other rooms, but America wasn't listening to the words. He couldn't take another minute of sitting in silence while they discussed England's fate.

When the entrance in front of him opened, America stopped, standing stock still as France slipped out and closed the door slightly behind him. America met his eyes with a helpless look and France's face was so serious it made America's heart thud painfully against his chest.

Removing his hand from the doorknob, France turned to face the younger country, clearing his throat before he spoke. "He's just inside," France said, his voice tired and worn. America glanced past him towards the door as France continued. "Scotland and Wales have both been taken home. We have arranged for protection, and for housekeepers to watch them when a country is not. Ireland and I will be helping where we can but," America's gaze slid back to France's as he said, "But they are in your care now, America. That is what they have decided, and that you will be... responsible for them."

America flinched a little at France's words because he could hear the implications. He could hear what France wasn't saying, which would have fallen along the lines of "territories" or "colonies" and America was glad they weren't mentioning that because his hands were shaking again. He couldn't get them to stop.

"Until they are older, of course," France said. America thought he should say something, but all he did was nod. France seemed to understand and moved aside to let America inside the room. "He's been here a week and yet he hasn't spoken a word. He's scared, more than confused I'm sure. Taking him home and allowing him time to adjust would be the wisest thing to do right now."

"He. Does he-"

"No, America, he is unable to remember anything. His memories have been wiped clean, and I cannot say for sure whether he will regain them anytime soon or anytime at all, for that matter."

America swallowed, but nodded again. Guilt clawed at his insides, gnawing away at him and he felt like he was going to throw up. "I should have been there, France."

France looked at him sadly, shaking his head as he placed a comforting hand on the younger country's shoulder. "There is nothing you could have done. We were all fighting. It was not your fault."

Then why did it feel like it was, America didn't say. France patted his shoulder once more before starting off down the hallway towards the murmuring voices, leaving America alone, standing in front of the partially opened doorway.

America hesitated for a few seconds longer, before walking forward, entering the small room wordlessly.

Inside, the office space was more of a meeting room, lit by two yellowish lamps hanging down from the ceiling. A long table had been pushed against one of the walls, and a few chairs scattered about. Seated in one of those chairs was a small figure, his sneakers barely brushing the ground and his head bowed, staring at the floor.

As America crept closer, the boy's head shot up, swiveling around to glance at this new person with wide eyes. A jolt flipped through America's stomach as he gazed back at bright green eyes. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, maybe something different or weird or wrong. Well, something _was_ wrong technically, but his eyes were still the same, they were still England's eyes. He was little, so strangely young, but his hair was still an unruly sandy mess, his eyebrows still large and dark, everything just _still him_.

And America found himself being scrutinized back, England's startled gaze flickering to something worried and a bit curious as he looked him up and down.

America took a deep breath before he stepped the last few feet closer and knelt down in front of England's seat, putting them on the same eye level and offering the smaller boy a reassuring smile.

"Hey,"

England stared back, his eyes unblinking.

"Um," America started, "You probably don't recognize me, France said you wouldn't, but my name's America." When England continued to sit there, America spoke again, keeping his voice soft and encouraging. "Your name's England right?" He had been here a week, they had told him his name hadn't they? Or maybe he and the others had already known it.

The smaller boy paused, before nodding his head slowly up and down.

America smiled again, saying calmly "It's nice to meetcha England." He stayed there for another moment, perhaps waiting for England to reply, before adding, "I bet you're tired. If it's ok with you, I'm here to take you home, alright?"

England titled his head to the side slightly, regarding America, before nodding his head again. America stood up as England slide off of his chair, looking back at his shoes once again. America's heart twitched and he gently reached down to grasp England's smaller hand in his own. After a moment he felt England grip back tightly as he led him out of the meeting room.

xXx

America's first thought when they finally made it back to England's house, was that he probably needed to safety proof this place. England wasn't that little really, but still. There was a lot of stuff lying about.

It was late, and as England stumbled over the threshold rubbing his eyes, America figured he better just carry him the rest of the way upstairs before he fell over. Once he was picked up, England wrapped his tiny arms around America's necked and yawned. They found their way into one of the guest rooms on the second floor; a room that was more cozy with a smaller sized bed. America laid England down, slipping his shoes off one by one, and spreading the blanket over top of him, even tucking it in at the sides. England squirmed a little, kicking his feet to make room as he burrowed under the covers. America would have laughed, except England's eyes had closed and America crept silently back out of the room, careful to avoid any creaks on the floor as he went.

The older country figured he would stay up for a while longer. He couldn't sleep anyway; his mind still buzzing. So he flopped down on the couch, and turned on the T.V., not really watching it, but finding comfort in the quiet noise nonetheless. The all but empty house groaned when the wind outside blew against it, tree branches tapping and scrapping along the siding and windows.

An hour later, America jumped in his seat as he heard footsteps creep into the room. He turned and found the top of a small blond head and bright eyes staring back at him over the side arm of the couch.

America blinked and England blinked back.

America ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. "Can't sleep either huh?"

England shook his head and America patted the cushion next to him, gesturing for the kid to come join him. England didn't hesitate this time as he wandered around the edge of the couch and hopped up onto America's lap. A smiled twitched onto America's face as he let his arms fall around the younger boy in front of him as he made himself comfortable, resting his head on America's chest.

It wasn't much later when the two of them fell asleep; T.V. unwatched and droning in the background.

For the next week, America and England camped out in the empty house on the small, uncomfortable living room couch.

xXx

It took time, but after awhile, England started speaking again. America came to stay with him as often as he could, which was actually a lot, given that his officials are even encouraging it. America also visited Scotland and Wales, and they'd even brought the three of them together to play, hang out, or in some cases, beat up on each other. Despite that however, Ireland said they're getting along a lot better than they did when growing up the first time around.

It was mildly cloudy as America made his way up the front walkway of England's house. When he wasn't here, there was a housekeeper, Mrs. Grensten, who watched England. She lived just next door, and she knew exactly who they were which had America guessing that they placed her in this neighborhood simply for the purpose of watching the young nation.

America shifted the bag that hung off his shoulder, and skipped the two steps up the front porch to the door. He rang the doorbell twice out of habit. A moment later, a short, pepper-haired woman emerged, smilingly warmly as she saw who it was.

"Mr. Jones, it's good to see you again," she said, eyes crinkling at the corners, "You might have your work cut out for you this time though, my dear."

"What do you mean?" America asked, confused. Excitement still bubbled in his chest at being able to spend time with England again. He hated being away.

Mrs. Grensten just laughed as she grabbed her jacket and purse off the side coat rack, slipping out the door. "I'm sure Arthur will be happy to see you, sweetie." and with a small wave, she was off.

America shrugged to himself as he turned and entered the house. He dropped his bag in the entryway, planning on moving it later, as he found England sitting in the living room, playing with a few games America had brought him on his last visit.

Before the older nation could say so much as a hello, England turned around and America immediately had to slap a hand over his mouth, stifling any laughter that might slip out.

England, apparently, had taken two large pieces of masking tape and stuck them over each of his eyebrows.

When he saw America's expression, England glared, as if daring him to make fun of him. But America merely coughed into his fist quickly before glancing away, motioning back to England and asking, "So, uh, you got some new tape I see."

"It's not funny," England shot back, "Stop laughing."

America held his hands up in surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it."

England's glare intensified, and it would have looked intimidating if it weren't for the two pieces of brown, crinkling together comically.

America sighed and plopped down on the floor next to the smaller boy. England physically looked almost four or five now. They even had to run out to the store to get him a couple new clothes and shoes. Though England seemed to like wearing things that didn't quite match. Brown tape included.

"So why are you hiding your eyebrows?" America asked. He picked up one of the toys and twirled it between his fingers.

England stared down at his own hands, pouting slightly. America watched him and eventually he mumbled, "... the said they looked funny."

"Who said they looked funny?"

England shifted uncomfortably. "The kids outside." His brow furrowed behind the tape as he said, "I'm never going outside again."

America placed down the toy and scooted closer to England. The younger boy looked up at him, panicked, but America just brought his hands up to slowly peel off the bits of tape, carefully so as not to hurt him.

"Well, you do have some fuzzy eyebrows there," America said, teasing lightly. When England looked about to protest, America's voice turned serious as he continued, "But, it suits you. And I don't think there's anything wrong with the way you look, England." America finished with the tape, crumpling up the pieces and tossing them to the side. He tapped England on each of his eyebrows, grinning triumphantly.

England smacked his hand away from his face and America laughed at the familiarity of it. "And you shouldn't let anyone tell you otherwise."

England sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve and looking away. America suddenly snapped his fingers, struck with an idea. "Hey! I know!" he exclaimed, "I brought some candy with me from back home. It's awesome, always cheers me up!"

England perked up at that and America dashed over to his bag to retrieve his stash of sweets.

Fifteen minutes later and America vowed to never give England sugar again.

Ever.

America rounded the corner from the dining room into the kitchen, running, and chasing a messy head of blond hair wearing a dish towel as some sort of wizard cloak and only one shoe.

England disappeared around another corner as the phone rang. America skidded to a halt, breathing fast and picking up the receiver while glancing around for which direction the little hyperactive sneak went.

"H-Hello?"

"_Mr. Jones?"_ It was the neighbor, Mrs. Grensten, her voice sounding concerned on the other end of the line, _"Mr. Jones, is everything alright? I heard a terrible racket-"_

"No no, everything's fine, it's cool-"

A crash sounded from the next room and America stuck his head out into the hallway to see a shelf toppled over, knickknacks and other objects broken on the floor. England stood at the other end and looked up at America with wide eyes, like a dear caught in the headlights, before making a mad dash in the opposite direction.

"Um, we- we're just messing around, we-" Another crash. "England sheesh, will you just sit still!" America yelled, forgetting Mrs. Grensten on the other line.

"_Mr-?"_

"England, put that down! AH! You're going to get your head stuck in there!" America dropped the phone at that point, running off as England's laughter flew throughout the house. "What are you, _actually_ five years old?"

"_Mr. Jones? Hello?"_

xXx

As the years passed and the once United Kingdom, continued to grow under the care of the United States, so did England and his brothers.

America taught England to read and to write; schooling him in an odd mix of his own traditions and traditions of England's people. But one day, when they were practicing words, America gave the smaller boy the world "color".

To which England gave him a paper back spelling the word "colour".

When America asked him why he did it that way, England merely shrugged, saying it looked right.

By the time England had physically turned thirteen, he had read more books than any human being ever had in their entire lifetime. He picked out the classics, naturally drawn to literature that his people loved; stories and tales that traveled throughout time and his own past.

However, England also wanted to read about military strategies, government plans, and economic structures. America thought it a little unsettling and wondered if he should be concerned about that. England found all these different histories of other countries and his own history, intensely fascinating, because he had no emotional tie to them. Not that he could remember anyway.

"And you just declared open war like that? Wasn't that a bit of a bad idea?" England asked, his green eyes shining with curiosity. And America couldn't believe they were really talking about this. Even after all this time, with America having taken care of England for several years now, it was almost surreal.

"That's sort of what revolutions are like," America scratched the back of his head. They were sitting at the kitchen table, books spread out between them, lying open and everywhere.

England just laughed, shooting America a mischievous glance "I would have done it sneakier. Or at least smarter..."

"Well hey, I never said I was the world's greatest planner! And it worked anyway didn't it," America countered, a tad smug.

England stuck his tongue out at him before flipping a few pages of the book in front of him. "So Germany really almost took over the world?"

"Sort of," America answered. "What's with you and these violent topics? Why don't we learn about Legoland in Denmark or something?" he said, arms whipping outward in question.

"There's a country called Lego?"

America groaned and dropped his head in his hands, "Urgh, you're hopeless."

xXx

At the urging of others, America began to take England with him to some of the world meetings. Only to ones held in very close, neighboring European countries, to England's annoyance, but it was something at least.

England's country was improving, and he was growing at a steady rate, unlike when they were trying to raise themselves during the Dark Ages.

Though the world remained a little shaky, a little unstable, as nations built themselves up once more and got their feet back on the ground. America didn't want England getting caught up in any of that. He didn't want him to get hurt.

And no one dared to touch him or his brothers while under the superpower's protection.

But England himself continued to pester America, angry that he wasn't permitted to go out, and travel, or speak with other nations without someone hovering over his shoulder.

So America had been bringing him to meetings, which pacified the rowdy younger boy for now.

With a break in their discussions, America stood off to the side, half-heartedly speaking with France, while keeping a messy head of blond hair within sight out of the corner of his eye. England was talking with Ireland, punching Scotland in the arm at one point as the other laughed. Despite the fact that Scotland and Wales didn't need to attend these meetings, (technically England didn't either just yet) Ireland had brought his other two brothers along, getting them out of their houses for a bit and giving them the chance to see one another.

"Ah, they do seem to have gotten along better, this time around," France commented, noticing America's attention was currently elsewhere. Scotland had grabbed England in a headlock now, while the younger boy growled and Wales smirked.

"You think so?" America asked, moving his gaze back to the nation in front of him.

France nodded pensively. "I do." he said and smiled lightly, though his eyes remained serious. "I wonder if perhaps, it will be better this way."

"Of course it's better. I mean, they actually like each other now, don't they?" America said, wondering at France's change in attitude so quickly. "It's kinda funny though, England still has all these similarities to how he used to be. Like all of his quirks and habits are still kind of there, but it's also different, you know?"

France didn't speak for a moment, watching the young family instead. America shifted his weight from foot to foot, never enjoying awkward silences.

The older country seemed to chose his next words slowly, figuring out how to explain what he wanted to say. "England is still England," France murmured, taking care to keep this conversation between himself and America. "But there were bound to be differences. If you take a glass and it shatters on the ground, it is still the same glass. But you can never quiet piece it back together to the same way it was before."

America hated when someone used riddles to explain things. I made his head hurt.

"The pieces missing here, though, are... interesting," France continued on, "England has grown up in a loving environment, he's been protected, watched over. He also grew up not having to struggle against his siblings, nor defend himself from outside invaders. He also has not had to fight in any wars as of yet."

"And that's a bad thing?" America asked, skeptic.

"We learn from our mistakes, America. England has not had to deal with enough problems yet to know what is right and what is wrong."

America shook his head, disagreeing, "I think he does. And he's happy. I think that counts for something."

France hummed, but didn't respond. America glanced over at the brothers again, and furrowed his brow as a few other countries joined them to chat. "I'm not so sure about bringing him to meetings yet though. He's still a kid."

America looked back at France as the older country laughed faintly, "Do not worry, _mon ami. _Even now, it is obvious that he cares for you. But what is wrong with England making a few friends, hm?"

Nothing. Nothing was wrong with England finding friends and getting along with other countries.

Except that it made America's stomach churn in an unpleasant way that he didn't particularly like.

xXx

America's problems only continued to increase as England grew to the human age of sixteen.

The teenager wasn't content to stay at home and do nothing all day. He wanted to _explore_, to get out. And America had difficulty keeping tabs on where he was all the time, while handling paperwork and rising changes in the United Kingdom's government.

Stress and tension muddled through the air. America could physically feel it sometimes, and he wasn't sure which would drive him insane first, this insufferable, suffocating strain or England himself.

America decided it was going to be _England_, because at the meeting they were currently attending in Brussels, the teenager had vanished. _Again._

Leaving the meeting room behind, America searched the streets for what felt like hours, before he finally got a text from the missing country, saying to calm down, he knew where America was, and that he was sitting on a swing at a playground down the street.

America was positively fuming by the time he made it down the sidewalk, and through the metal gate to the park. He raked his eyes over England as he approached, taking in his scruffy attire and dirt-caked sneakers.

He didn't know whether to be relieved or just start yelling at the top of his lungs. Maybe both.

They had already fought about England's mini adventures many times over. And this time was no different. The smaller country wanted to _do things_, he kept saying. And America understood that, he did, but couldn't he see that America was just _worried_ about him. That he wanted to know where he was because he didn't want him to get _hurt_.

"I can take care of myself," England said petulantly, scuffing his foot across the ground furiously, kicking up a puff of dirt.

America ran a hand up under his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can see that."

"I want to see the world outside of my own little island and _France_-"

"Well, we are in Belgium right now-"

"You know what I mean, America!" England said, jingling the chains of the swing, frustrated. They were the only ones in the park, but America had the urge to tell England to keep his voice down anyway.

America sighed, and sat down on the empty swing next to him. "I know," he said, "And you will, you just. You gotta give it some time, England. I just worry about you, and I don't want you getting into trouble."

England frowned at that, unhappy. America swung sideways a bit, bumping his shoulder against the younger country's. England's frown softened a little,though his shoulders and gaze remained rigid.

They swung back in forth, listening to the sounds of the park; the trees rustling, cars driving by in the distance. England seemed to relax, and America felt his own anger ebb away.

America bumped England in the arm again, warmth tingling through the contact that America tried not to dwell on. England pushed him back and America grinned.

"Nice clothes by the way," America commented dryly, motioning towards England's plain band t-shirt and jeans with a hole in them. He didn't even know where the teenager had _gotten_ these clothes, having come to the meeting in dress shirts and ties like always.

England shifted, titling his head nonchalantly as he said, "Was thinking about getting my ear pierced too."

America glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow. England tossed him a smirk right back.

And then they were both laughing, doubling over and leaning on each other as their voices carried through the air. America's stomach flipping as he watched England's face light up in a smile, seriously good-looking when he was happy like that. England grabbed America's hand and held onto it. America squeezed back slightly.

Anger forgotten and for just that moment it was only the two of them.

xXx

America had long ago come to terms with falling in love with England.

He had wanted the older country for as long as he could remember. But he hadn't quite gotten around to doing anything about it.

And then _this_ happened.

And America's feeling were forgotten, buried deep down and replaced with something else, something more simple and caring. Like a brother again.

But those feelings surfaced again as England got older; morphing out of something platonic, and hitting America in the gut with all it's strength.

And England wasn't helping matters. America focused on work, on running his nation and territories, keeping England at arms length at best. Though that was proving difficult when the other country seemed to be doing the exact opposite. It was a weird combination of having England want to stay close to him and yet be independent at the same time.

And America couldn't be blamed for having it mess with his head at times.

It was like England was expecting _more_ from him, and America didn't know what to give.

xXx

Physically turning eighteen, and England was almost at the height he would be for the rest of his life. It was almost funny how the boy could grow so much, and yet still be shorter than America in the end.

Things hadn't progressed too well however. With tension still palpable, and England disobeying America's orders left and right, they were almost always sniping at one another.

England had also taken to shutting himself away; commandeering one of the rooms on the second floor and loading it with books and paperwork and documents. America couldn't understand why. He handled all of the United Kingdom's assets.

The shorter teenager was also speaking with other countries that England normally wouldn't really speak to. He started talking to them at meetings, and then more so outside of the offices, and official places. There were moments in meetings now when some of those countries hesitated before speaking; shooting glances in England's direction before continuing on with what they were supposed to present.

England for his part, never looked up, just doodling on a piece of notepad paper on the table in front of him.

Though America was absolutely sure he was listening attentively.

No one else seemed to notice these instances. No one but America. And it was odd.

England had become more distant, spending more time out of his house, with his brothers, and away from America.

There was something wrong. Something building on the horizon, and dread had settled into America's skin, keeping him on edge.

But he couldn't understand why.

It was just England right?

xXx

America didn't find out what was going on until a few years later.

By then it was too late.

xXx

"_It has been reported today that the British Isles have recently broken ties with it's governing country the United States of America and declared themselves an independent country once more. _

_With this news of a developing power struggle, the newly reforming United Kingdom, is said to have elicited the allegiance of the country of Ireland, as well as having obtained control over a significant amount of other countries in what officials are saying could be a rise of-" _

America could not believe what he was hearing. He didn't understand, why had no one told him about this, why were there no meetings, no discussions, no _anything_.

"You're not in control anymore, America."

How had he missed this. How had he not seen the signs. For fuck's sake, of all people, he should have _known_.

"I'm my own country now," England was saying, his voice deadly calm "I don't have to follow your orders."

America was standing across from him, staring at one another from across the wooden kitchen table. Dirty plates and half eaten food littered along the surface from where they had been eating a few moments before. And then _this_. This happened and everything was wrong. It was all falling apart, and this wasn't supposed to happen, not to them.

They had been talking, followed by raised voices, escalating, and then shouting. America was breathing heavy, anger and hurt flaring within him, only matched by the same expressions mirrored in England's own eyes. He had come here to tell America himself, to tell him he was planning on leaving, and America could have laughed at the irony if his throat wasn't already clogged with something else.

The silence was stretching in the room now, settling on them in a thick, dense fog, and America felt the weight of it, the crushing sense of dread hovering over them both and it was inescapable.

America swallowed, almost taking a step forward except for the fact that he wasn't moving. He wasn't sure where to go if he did. His voice didn't sound like his own, came out a little above a whisper, "You can't."

England's hand twitched at his side, his eyes never wavering from America's. "I am," he said back, determination still there beneath his words.

America was shaking his head now, "You're- you can't, England. You're not ready-"

"Stop talking to me like I'm a child, America!" England was yelling now, his voice dripping with venom.

"But you still are!" America shot back, throwing his hands out in exasperation. Why was it so hard for him to understand. "You don't know what you're doing."

England laughed now, a far cry from anything happy, from anything that a laugh should sound like. "I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm just sorry it's taken me this long."

"This is what you wanted," America seethed, hands clenching beside him as his nails dug into his palms, on the verge of drawing blood. "Rounding up other countries like pin points on a map. Forcing them-"

"If you want to know, I haven't forced anyone," England swiftly cut across him, and he was looking smug now, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. "It took years, but I planned and I waited and we wound our way into these countries until they we're welcoming us with open arms. I've built myself up an army unlike anything before, and my navy is the largest the world has ever seen. It took years, but I'm stronger now, America."

England paused as his gaze shook with furry and his eyes flitted away, looking to the side. His voice grew quiet for a moment as he sad, "You can't stop me."

But America didn't believe it. He refused to. "We're supposed to _help_ people, England, not take whatever we want from them!"

"I'm helping my own people now. I'm taking what I deserve."

"With violence England? With force? This will only bring on war-"

"Maybe I want war!"

And at that, England flipped the kitchen table in front of him, his temper blown, and broken glass scattered across the floor. The pieces spun and chipped, sliding to a stop and catching small rays of colorless sunshine that danced and twinkled in the fading light.

Jumping back slightly, America regained himself and moved around the upended table, glass crunching under his steps. He grasped England roughly by the shoulders, forced his arms downward and held him against the far wall. England instinctively fought back, pushing against America's grip, but the larger country braced his arms and tightened his grip. England looked about ready to start kicking him, throw out a punch if he could get free, and America shook him, banged England against the wall, just wanting him to _stop, dammit._

They stayed like that for a moment; America refusing to let up on the pressure on England's arms, and England glowering back, breaths heavy and mingling. America could feel the heat radiating up through England's shirt, the warmth tingling in his hands and curling in his stomach. It scratched and clawed, a mixture of anger, frustration, and more.

Always something more.

There was an excruciatingly long moment where neither of them spoke. England's eyes were dark, half-lidded and America stared back transfixed, his body not taking commands from his brain anymore. America could feel his heart-beat in his mouth, reeling slightly. He thinks distantly that he's let this go on dangerously too long.

England hissed between his teeth, eyes stuck on America, and his mind stuttered, falters. America swallowed with a click, breathing hard, before his lips were on England's, sucking on his lower lip. England jolted, stealing America's breath and kissed harder, pushing up against him.

England dug his hands into his hair, pulling America closer because _shit_, it's not just him, it's _both_. And now it might not be enough. America slid his hand up to press his palm flat around the side of England's neck, feeling his pulse pound against his skin. It's like a blow to the head and a bolt of heat ripped down America's spine before a growl tugged at the back of his throat and he licked inside England's mouth. His other hand jittered along England's arm, skin vibrating.

As England's tongue pushed back against his, tasting him, realization pressed in on America and he caught himself, jerked back, but leaving his hands on England, still touching him where he could.

England's mouth was parted and panting and he watched America watch him.

America's whole body shook and there was a faint mantra of _can't can't can't _in the back of his mind, but he wasn't listening to that part of his brain anymore because this was _England._ And he can't, he can't do this...

He leaned forward slightly, still so close together, and rested his forehead against England's. Soft breath fanned out across his checks and America's own breath shuddered slightly and he doesn't think he'll breathe right ever again.

"All I wanted was to protect you. Keep you _safe_," America's voice carried in the empty room even though it was nothing more than a muffled whisper.

There was a moment of hesitation, so brief. And then England's hands slipped away, slowly releasing their hold and putting distance between them. America felt like his heart was coming apart at the seems.

"I don't want to be saved."

xXx

England left.

America followed him across the ocean.

But America wasn't ready for what he found. England hadn't been lying. The entire country was thrumming with power. The United States wasn't ready to give up their territory just yet, not this soon. And if the United States wasn't going to back down, then the United Kingdom was declaring war.

War.

Despite all appearances, America wasn't the superpower he used to be. The United States had been losing ground in that title for some time now, and war hit them hard.

England and his brothers were strong, having years to prepare and other countries at their beck and call.

For the first time in a _long time_, soldiers had found their way onto American soil, forcing up through the Caribbean and into the south.

It was bloody, and chaotic. Soldiers falling, and yet more of them pushed through and the United States couldn't hold them back any longer.

They weren't winning.

xXx

It was sunny when America saw England again.

A beautiful blue sky stretched endlessly above them, cloudless, and warm rays touching the grass below.

It was a perfect day.

America hated it.

He stood before England, the two of them pointing guns at the other. England's green uniform was splattered with blood, sweat dripped down the side of his face, but his hands remained steady.

His venomous gaze bored into America's and the taller country felt his legs shaking. He didn't think he'd be able to stand for much longer because he was tired, so so tired, and he didn't want to do this. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

They didn't have enough supplies, enough men. America's officials said they would not win this war, short of using nuclear weapons.

And America wouldn't use them. _He couldn't-_

He wondered if irony enjoyed making a fool out of him.

England continued to aim his gun in America's face, as the larger country lowered his weapon, bringing it down and back to his side. England's eyes widened slightly as he stared at America and America felt his lips curl up into a sad half-smile.

"I'm done fighting," America's voice choked, and he swallow back the lump in his throat. He had to get this out before his words failed him completely.

A lot of things America had done have failed, it seems.

America huffed a painful laughed, his gaze stuttering and sticking to green eyes.

"You win, England."

The sun sparkled and shown, glittering in the blood painted grass, as a bird sang in the distance and a warm breeze passed across their faces.

It was a beautiful day out.

England let his hand drop, pointing his gun away from the other nation, but not releasing his grip on it completely. He watch America for a time, and there was ringing in America's ears as he stared back, his attention focused on England. Always on England.

Until England turned his head away, his voice tinted with victory, and success, but also a sadness in there somewhere...

"It's the British Empire now."

THE END

* * *

><p>Title comes from the song <em>You're Gonna Go Far Kid<em> by The Offspring.

_"There's something in your way,_

_And now someone is gonna pay,_

_And if you can't get what you want,_

_Well it's all because of me"_

Also, reviews are awesome


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